Ode To My Washing Machine

I had such great hope
When I brought you home.
With your promises of energy efficiency
And clean clothes
That would be so wrung out by the washer
That they could practically be dried
With a dollar-store Chinese fan.

You failed to mention that you
Would only work when you were packed to the gills.
That there would be no such thing as a ‘small load’.
Or that you would shake so violently that
I always expected you to break through the laundry room wall
And into my kitchen.
Or that the ‘timer’ was in dog years.
That 1:01 really meant two hours and forty-five minutes.

I am no math whiz, but
How can you be energy efficient when it takes
Three times as long
To do a load of wash?

You failed to mention that my clothes would be so woefully tangled
Nay, torn!
When I pulled them out
One by one
Untwisting and cursing
Only to find
That they were

Drain and Spin Cycle
Became the theme of laundry day.

I hate you, piece of shit GE front-loader,
With the heat of 10,000 suns.
I hope the engineers who designed you
Get infections in their rectums.

Rectum? I nearly killed him!

But, seriously.

Today you finally died
And flooded my laundry room for the last time.
I will not miss you
Or your moldy rubber seal
Or your pedestal that makes it impossible
For me to reach my cabinets
For I am short.

Fuck you, piece of shit Chinese-made GE front-loader.
Fuck you hard.


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